


Stop and Stare/This Kiss

by ephemerality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, HOW TO TITLE, need help with this seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerality/pseuds/ephemerality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in time when he realized that he was falling in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi...me again...been a long time, I know, I'm sorry.  
> Anyway, I need your help.  
> I have to submit this for a contest for school in a few days, so I had to change it and make it not a fanfic, but I need your input. Tell me what works and what doesn't, and how I can make it better so I can win this contest.  
> Thanks!
> 
> The first chapter is the fanfic version, and the second chapter is the one I'm submitting. Feel free to critique either.

There’s something about her. Something that makes him stop and stare, makes him want to follow her around like a stray puppy and protect her from the monsters under the bed. Makes him fall in love with her a little more every time he sees her.

He doesn’t know where this romantic side of him came from, and it seems to have a mind of its own. He finds himself unable to take his eyes off her, unable to say no to her, and he knows people have noticed but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when she smiles shyly and looks at him like that, like she really cares about him, like she’s surprised and touched, like she might be in love with him. (The last one is his favorite, and frankly he wishes she’d always look at him like that.)

He knows it’s bad when she asks him to go to the lacrosse game (just to watch Scott, Kira and Stiles, that’s all) and he takes all of two seconds to consider before saying yes. And when they get there it’s fifty degrees, but she hadn’t thought to bring a jacket and her dress wasn’t helping much, so he tried to give her his.

Emphasis on  tried .

She decided the better idea would be to  share the jacket, and who was he to say no to snuggling with Lydia? She cuddled with him the whole time, and honestly he has no idea what happened during that game. He really wasn’t paying attention to anything but her.

He knows it’s really bad when he gets a call at 1 am from the sheriff about Lydia and a body, and he jumps out of bed and breaks at least four traffic laws to get there in three minutes. When he gets there, he's a nervous wreck, and he asks her why she didn’t call him first, and when she replies that she doesn’t have his number, he gives it to her.

From then on, she always calls him first.

He knows he’s in trouble after a particularly bad day, when a crazed vampire had escaped from Eichen House and tried to kill him, and had very nearly succeeded. When it was all over, and the vampire was back in Eichen House where he belonged, Lydia showed up at Deaton’s office, where Jordan had been put after the vampire attacked him, due to the ring of mountain ash surrounding the building.

Deaton is touching up on Jordan’s broken ribs when she walks in, and he is immediately struck by her beauty (again). She stares at him for a second, and he realizes it’s because he’s shirtless. The thought makes him blush. She waits by the door until Deaton glances up and notices her. He looks back and forth between the two of them and leaves, saying, “I’ll give you two a minute.”

Jordan swallows hard, standing slowly as she makes her way over to him. “Hey.”

She smiles timidly. “Hi.”

“You okay?” he asks, and she laughs sadly. She looks like she might cry. And then she does, a tear rolling down her beautiful face.

He steps closer to her, frowning. “Lydia, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” he asks softly.

“Oh, Jordan,” she whispers. “I’m not okay if you’re not okay.”

Later, he’ll blame the painkillers. But right now, he’s feeling daring as he takes another tiny step closer and says, “Well, that’s good. Because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” He takes another little step. “So please be okay.”

She laughs a little at his cheesiness. She sniffs and holds her arms out for a hug. He’s all too happy to oblige.

Her hair is soft and her hands are cold against his bare skin, but he doesn’t pull away, instead pulling her closer, suppressing a shiver when her lips brush his skin, pressing a kiss to her hair, and when she starts sobbing, he holds her tighter, feeling her tears on his skin. She blinks and he suppresses a shudder at the sensation of her eyelashes fluttering against his chest. His ribs ache but he ignores them, because this is worth it. She’s worth it. He ends up holding her for almost an hour, just standing there, swaying from side to side, whispering reassurances in her ear. And he doesn’t mind.

He knows he’s screwed when he has this nightmare about her dying and he wakes up sobbing, and the first person he calls is Lydia.

He doesn’t even know why he calls her, but he can't help himself. Even if it's just her voicemail, he needs to hear her voice. When she picks up the phone, she sounded tired, and he feels terrible for waking her up. He feels even worse when he tells her he had a nightmare and she insists on coming over, hanging up when he tries to protest.

When she knocks on the door, he opens it immediately, and they stand there awkwardly for a minute. Her hair is down and her knee-length red dress is rumpled, like she just pulled it on. Her eyes are wide and her feet are bare, like she forgot her shoes. He realizes that he’s standing there in just his boxers and a faded old T-shirt and clears his throat nervously.

“I’m really sorry, Lydia, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

She cuts him off. “I don’t care what time it is, Jordan, you can call me anytime.”

He really doesn’t know what to say to that, so he opens the door wider and she steps through. He locks it behind her and she looks at him with her wide green eyes and he knows that if he keeps standing here with her looking at him like this then he’s gonna do something stupid. So he swallows and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry,” he says again, not knowing what else to say.

She touches his arm. Her gaze is soft. “Wanna talk about it?”

Just thinking about his nightmare puts him on edge. He meets her gaze and whatever she sees there makes her eyes well up with tears. “Oh, Jordan,” she says quietly, reaching up to touch his face, and that is his breaking point.

He starts crying then, and not like a man, like a little girl. She doesn't blink. She just wraps her arms around him and pulls him to her. Any other night, with anyone else, he might've pulled away, might've tried to cover up the fact that he was scared, and it's not that he was afraid to be alone, it's that he's afraid that if he looks away, even for one second, something will happen to her, his nightmare will become a prophecy and he will never forgive himself. It's more than wanting to be near her, he needs to be with her. And somehow she knows that. She stands there and holds him, just holds him, running her fingers through his hair and whispering reassurances. And somehow she makes everything fade away. And he wonders why it can't be like this all the time.

Eventually he realizes that they must've been standing there for a while, he slowly and reluctantly pulls back. She doesn't let go, instead pulling him closer, and while he's touched, he also knows that she must be getting tired, so he looks down at the top of her head and says her name. His voice is hoarse and unfamiliar, so he clears his throat and tries again.

"Mmm?" She sounds tired.

"Do you want to sit?"

She nods and pulls back and he regrets saying anything at all, but she keeps a hold of his hand as he leads her to the couch. She sits and he sits next to her. She lets go of his hand and scoots away from him and he has the sudden urge to start crying again, but then she grabs his wrist and tugs him so he's laying with his head in her lap and when she runs her fingers through his hair he decides he likes this a lot better. In the morning he gets a frantic call from Scott.  Does he know where Lydia is, because no one can find her and everyone is freaking out and Stiles is convinced she's been abducted by aliens.

He laughs and tells Scott that he just talked to Lydia and she's fine, and if Scott suspects anything he doesn't let on. So he hangs up and closes his eyes, feeling her fingers running through his hair. She doesn’t ask him to tell her about his nightmare, not last night, not this morning. She just sits here on his couch and hold his head in her lap and runs her fingers through his hair.

She brushes her fingers across his cheek and he inhales sharply, but if she notices she doesn’t comment. Instead she asks, “What time is it?”

He glances at the phone in his hand. “Eight-thirty.”

“Oh my god.” Her fingers still. “I have to go to school.”

Oh . He’d forgotten about school, forgotten she was only 18, only seven years younger than him.

She scoots out from underneath him and stands. “I’m gonna be late.” She doesn’t sound too upset about that.

He doesn’t know what on Earth possessed him to do it, but do it he does.

He reaches out and grabs her hand, spinning her around to face him. “Or,” he suggests before giving himself time to think about it. “You could skip and stay with me.”

She stares at him like he’s crazy. And maybe he is. “What about you? You can’t skip work.”

“I could call in sick.”

“You don’t get sick.”

He frowns. He’d forgotten about that. “So?”

She laughs, and she is stunning, and she says. “Jordan.”

Her tone is affectionate, and he loves that it’s directed at him. “Yes?”

She laughs again. “What would we even do all day?”

The thoughts going through his head are inappropriate (so, very very inappropriate), so instead he says, ever so eloquently, “Um.”

She giggles, something he didn’t know Lydia Martin could do. Which is contradictory to his other thought - no, fact - that Lydia Martin can do anything.

“What?” she asks, her tone a little unsure, and he realizes he’s been staring. Not that anyone could blame him.

He shakes his head, clears his throat, says, “Nothing, just--just thinking,” and they both know he’s lying but neither one says anything about it. She just nods, her cheeks a little pink, and he nods too, and then he realizes that they’re still holding hands. He glances down at their joined hands and she follows his gaze. He figures she’ll let go immediately, but instead she raises their joined hands to her lips and kisses the back of his hand.

His heart stops, and he knows she hears his gasp, feels the way his hand tightens around hers.

She squeezes back, then turns and walks away, holding onto his hand until she has to let go. He misses her instantly.

He hears her moving around in the kitchen and then she calls, “Don’t you have any food around here?”

He smiles at her reproachful tone. “Somewhere, I’m sure.”

She leans around the wall, holding a bag of Original Goldfish. “This? This is not food.”

He laughs then, because she sounds like his mother. He can’t help but think of when his dad showed him this research study that said that girls tend to marry men similar to their fathers, and boys tend to marry women similar to their mothers. He’s filled with a sudden, irrational hope that it might be true.

“Well, what do you want to do?” he asks.

She seems shy suddenly. “We could...go out?”

“Go out?” he repeats dumbly. That sounds vaguely like she’s asking him on a date. Which would save him the trouble of asking her out first.

“Yeah. Or we could go shopping and make something together?” She’s wringing her hands now, clutching the bag of Goldfish. She looks so nervous, it breaks his heart that she thinks he could ever say no to her.

He gets up and goes to her, takes the Goldfish bag from her and sets it on the counter, takes her hands in his. He tries to ignore the way they fit perfectly into his. “I’m okay with whatever you want to do.”

She stares at their joined hands, and it occurs to him that maybe this was new for her, having a say in her own life, having someone ask her opinion, getting to make a choice and make her own decisions. The thought makes him sad. He wonders how much she missed out on because she was trying to make everyone else happy.

“Um,” she says, and he squeezes her hands reassuringly. She looks up at him with a tiny smile. “We could go shopping and make something together?”

He smiles, and, purely on impulse (and because she hadn’t shoved him away in disgust yet) he lets go of one of her hands, pulls her close and kisses the top of her head. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing into his arms. He pulls away reluctantly. “Ready?”

She nods, looking a little dazed, and he thinks with some satisfaction that if a simple kiss on the head would do that to her, then he can’t wait to find out what she looks like when he kisses her for real.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the non fanfic version, that I'm submitting to the contest.

There’s something about her. Something that makes him stop and stare, makes him want to follow her around like a stray puppy and protect her from the monsters under the bed. Makes him fall in love with her a little more every time he sees her.

He doesn’t know where this romantic side of him came from, and it seems to have a mind of its own. He finds himself unable to take his eyes off her, unable to say no to her, and he knows people have noticed but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when she smiles shyly and looks at him like that, like she really cares about him, like she’s surprised and touched, like she might be in love with him. (The last one is his favorite, and frankly he wishes she’d always look at him like that.)

He knows it’s bad when she asks him to go to the lacrosse game (just to watch her brother, Scott, that’s all) and he takes all of two seconds to consider before saying yes. And when they get there it’s fifty degrees, but she hadn’t thought to bring a jacket and her dress wasn’t helping much, so he tried to give her his.

Emphasis on  tried .

She decided the better idea would be to  share the jacket, and who was he to say no to snuggling with Laurel? She cuddled with him the whole time, and honestly he has no idea what happened during that game. He really wasn’t paying attention to anything but her.

He knows he’s in trouble after a particularly bad day, when he isn’t paying attention at work and falls down the stairs and onto his boss, who’s carrying hot coffee.

The doctor is touching up on Jordan’s bruised ribs when she walks in, and he is immediately struck by her beauty (again). She stares at him for a second, and he realizes it’s because he’s shirtless. The thought makes him blush. She waits by the door until the doctor glances up and notices her. He looks back and forth between the two of them and leaves, saying, “I’ll give you two a minute.”

Jordan swallows hard, standing slowly as she makes her way over to him. “Hey.”

She smiles timidly. “Hi.”

“You okay?” he asks, and she laughs sadly. She looks like she might cry. And then she does, a tear rolling down her beautiful face.

He steps closer to her, frowning. “Laurel, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” he asks softly.

“Oh, Jordan,” she whispers. “I’m not okay if you’re not okay.”

Later, he’ll blame the painkillers. But right now, he’s feeling daring as he takes another tiny step closer and says, “Well, that’s good. Because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” He takes another little step. “So please be okay.”

She laughs a little at his cheesiness. She sniffs and holds her arms out for a hug. He’s all too happy to oblige.

Her hair is soft and her hands are cold against his bare skin, but he doesn’t pull away, instead pulling her closer, suppressing a shiver when her lips brush his skin, pressing a kiss to her hair, and when she starts sobbing, he holds her tighter, feeling her tears on his skin. She blinks and he suppresses a shudder at the sensation of her eyelashes fluttering against his chest. His ribs ache but he ignores them, because this is worth it. She’s worth it. He ends up holding her for almost an hour, just standing there, swaying from side to side, whispering reassurances in her ear. And he doesn’t mind.

He knows he’s screwed when he has this nightmare full of unnamed horrors and he wakes up sobbing, and the first person he calls is Laurel.

He doesn’t even know why he calls her, but he can't help himself. Even if it's just her voicemail, he needs to hear her voice. When she picks up the phone, she sounded tired, and he feels terrible for waking her up. He feels even worse when he tells her he had a nightmare and she insists on coming over, hanging up when he tries to protest.

When she knocks on the door, he opens it immediately, and they stand there awkwardly for a minute. Her hair is down and her knee-length red dress is rumpled, like she just pulled it on. Her eyes are wide and her feet are bare, like she forgot her shoes. He realizes that he’s standing there in just his boxers and a faded old T-shirt and clears his throat nervously.

“I’m really sorry, Laurel, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

She cuts him off. “I don’t care what time it is, Jordan, you can call me anytime.”

He really doesn’t know what to say to that, so he opens the door wider and she steps through. He locks it behind her and she looks at him with her wide green eyes and he knows that if he keeps standing here with her looking at him like this then he’s gonna do something stupid. So he swallows and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry,” he says again, not knowing what else to say.

She touches his arm. Her gaze is soft. “Wanna talk about it?”

Just thinking about his nightmare puts him on edge. He meets her gaze and whatever she sees there makes her eyes well up with tears. “Oh, Jordan,” she says quietly, reaching up to touch his face, and that is his breaking point.

He starts crying then, and not like a man, like a little girl. She doesn't blink. She just wraps her arms around him and pulls him to her. Any other night, with anyone else, he might've pulled away, might've tried to cover up the fact that he was scared, and it's not that he was afraid to be alone, it's that he's afraid that if he looks away, even for one second, something will happen to her, his nightmare will become a prophecy and he will never forgive himself. It's more than wanting to be near her, he needs to be with her. And somehow she knows that. She stands there and holds him, just holds him, running her fingers through his hair and whispering reassurances. And somehow she makes everything fade away. And he wonders why it can't be like this all the time.

Eventually he realizes that they must've been standing there for a while, he slowly and reluctantly pulls back. She doesn't let go, instead pulling him closer, and while he's touched, he also knows that she must be getting tired, so he looks down at the top of her head and says her name. His voice is hoarse and unfamiliar, so he clears his throat and tries again.

"Mmm?" She sounds tired.

"Do you want to sit?"

She nods and pulls back and he regrets saying anything at all, but she keeps a hold of his hand as he leads her to the couch. She sits and he sits next to her. She lets go of his hand and scoots away from him and he has the sudden urge to start crying again, but then she grabs his wrist and tugs him so he's laying with his head in her lap and when she runs her fingers through his hair he decides he likes this a lot better. In the morning he gets a frantic call from her brother.  Do you know where Laurel is, because no one can find her and everyone is freaking out and I’m convinced she's been abducted by aliens.

He laughs and tells Scott that he just talked to Laurel and she's fine, and if Scott suspects anything he doesn't let on. So he hangs up and closes his eyes, feeling her fingers running through his hair. She doesn’t ask him to tell her about his nightmare, not last night, not this morning. She just sits here on his couch and hold his head in her lap and runs her fingers through his hair.

She brushes her fingers across his cheek and he inhales sharply, but if she notices she doesn’t comment. Instead she asks, “What time is it?”

He glances at the phone in his hand. “Eight-thirty.”

“Oh my god.” Her fingers still. “I have to go to school.”

Oh . He’d forgotten about school, forgotten she was only 18, only seven years younger than him.

She scoots out from underneath him and stands. “I’m gonna be late.” She doesn’t sound too upset about that.

He doesn’t know what on Earth possessed him to do it, but do it he does.

He reaches out and grabs her hand, spinning her around to face him. “Or,” he suggests before giving himself time to think about it. “You could skip and stay with me.”

She stares at him like he’s crazy. And maybe he is. “What about you? You can’t skip work.”

“I could call in sick.”

“You don’t get sick.”

He frowns. He’d forgotten about that. “So?”

She laughs, and she is stunning, and she says. “Jordan.”

Her tone is affectionate, and he loves that it’s directed at him. “Yes?”

She laughs again. “What would we even do all day?”

The thoughts going through his head are inappropriate (so, very very inappropriate), so instead he says, ever so eloquently, “Um.”

She giggles, something he didn’t know Laurel Marks could do. Which is contradictory to his other thought - no, fact - that Laurel Marks can do anything.

“What?” she asks, her tone a little unsure, and he realizes he’s been staring. Not that anyone could blame him.

He shakes his head, clears his throat, says, “Nothing, just--just thinking,” and they both know he’s lying but neither one says anything about it. She just nods, her cheeks a little pink, and he nods too, and then he realizes that they’re still holding hands. He glances down at their joined hands and she follows his gaze. He figures she’ll let go immediately, but instead she raises their joined hands to her lips and kisses the back of his hand.

His heart stops, and he knows she hears his gasp, feels the way his hand tightens around hers.

She squeezes back, then turns and walks away, holding onto his hand until she has to let go. He misses her instantly.

He hears her moving around in the kitchen and then she calls, “Don’t you have any food around here?”

He smiles at her reproachful tone. “Somewhere, I’m sure.”

She leans around the wall, holding a bag of Original Goldfish. “This? This is not food.”

He laughs then, because she sounds like his mother. He can’t help but think of when his dad showed him this research study that said that girls tend to marry men similar to their fathers, and boys tend to marry women similar to their mothers. He’s filled with a sudden, irrational hope that it might be true.

“Well, what do you want to do?” he asks.

She seems shy suddenly. “We could...go out?”

“Go out?” he repeats dumbly. That sounds vaguely like she’s asking him on a date. Which would save him the trouble of asking her out first.

“Yeah. Or we could go shopping and make something together?” She’s wringing her hands now, clutching the bag of Goldfish. She looks so nervous, it breaks his heart that she thinks he could ever say no to her.

He gets up and goes to her, takes the Goldfish bag from her and sets it on the counter, takes her hands in his. He tries to ignore the way they fit perfectly into his. “I’m okay with whatever you want to do.”

She stares at their joined hands, and it occurs to him that maybe this was new for her, having a say in her own life, having someone ask her opinion, getting to make a choice and make her own decisions. The thought makes him sad. He wonders how much she missed out on because she was trying to make everyone else happy.

“Um,” she says, and he squeezes her hands reassuringly. She looks up at him with a tiny smile. “We could go shopping and make something together?”

He smiles, and, purely on impulse (and because she hadn’t shoved him away in disgust yet) he lets go of one of her hands, pulls her close and kisses the top of her head. She stiffens for a moment before relaxing into his arms. He pulls away reluctantly. “Ready?”

She nods, looking a little dazed, and he thinks with some satisfaction that if a simple kiss on the head would do that to her, then he can’t wait to find out what she looks like when he kisses her for real. **  
**


End file.
